Highly Unsuitable: Mr and Mischief / The Darkest of Secrets / The Undoing of de Luca. Kate Hewitt
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‘How are things going?’ she asked cheerfully as she approached the circular marble desk that was the focal point of the building’s lobby. Jane was busy on a call, but Helen sat there looking pale and a bit woebegone. ‘Got the hang of it?’ Emily asked, smiling, and Helen darted an anxious look at Jane.
‘I disconnected three calls,’ she confessed in a whisper. ‘And I got the lists wrong—’
‘The lists?’
‘The ones about who likes their calls and who doesn’t,’ Helen explained. She sounded frantic. ‘I mixed it all up, and gave the calls to people who don’t want them and not to those who do—’
‘Oh, well, no one was too bothered, were they?’ Emily said, quick to reassure Helen. ‘I told you, we’re quite a friendly bunch here.’
‘Mr Hatley came down right to the desk,’ Helen said in a low voice. ‘Shouted at me that he didn’t want the bloody calls.’ She blinked up at Emily, who felt her heart give a little twist at Helen’s obvious misery.
‘I should have warned you about John,’ she said. ‘He’s an old bear, but his bark is much worse than his bite. Or growl, I suppose. Come on.’ She reached for Helen’s coat, which hung on a nearby hook, and handed it to her. ‘There’s a pasta place around the corner that does a wonderful lasagne. Let’s forget our troubles for a bit.’
Helen rose gratefully from her seat and Emily waved to Jane, who gave her a rather despairing shake of her head and a pointed look at Helen before Emily sailed through the building’s front doors. It appeared it was going to take more than a morning for Helen to figure out the phones, but she’d get there in the end. Emily would make sure of it.
In any case, everything looked better from a cosy table in a restaurant, as they tucked into huge bowls of pasta and crusty garlic bread.
‘How are you finding London?’ Emily asked as she twirled some linguine around her fork. ‘Is Richard showing you around a bit?’
‘A bit,’ Helen allowed. She sounded cautious, perhaps even unhappy. Emily could hardly pretend to be surprised.
‘He’s busy, I suppose?’ she said in sympathy; she could just imagine Richard getting on with his flood retention basins and hydraulic mechanisms and who knew what else, leaving Helen quite on her own.
‘I didn’t realise he worked quite as much as he did,’ Helen admitted. ‘And I don’t understand a word of it—’
‘Neither do I,’ Emily confessed cheerfully. ‘And I’ve worked here for five years.’ She was interested in people, not mathematical formulas or desalination plants, for that matter. ‘Surely he’s been around sometimes, though?’ she asked, and Helen gave a little shrug.
‘Occasionally,’ she said softly. She hesitated, then confessed in an anxious rush, ‘I suppose it’s bound to be different than you think, isn’t it? We’ve been friends for so long, you know, and of course things will be bumpy at first—’
Bumpy? Emily felt a swell of self-righteous indignation. Surely Helen deserved a bit better than bumpy, a little more than sitting at home waiting for Richard to ring. ‘Tell you what,’ she said suddenly, an idea lighting her mind and firing her heart, ‘I’ve an invitation to a party tonight—it’s a launch for a new clothing designer, I think.’ Actually, she wasn’t sure what it was for; she received dozens of invitations every week, so that Emily mixed them up in her mind. Yet any of them would be a good opportunity to dance and laugh, and that was just what Helen needed. ‘Why don’t you come with me?’
Helen’s face slackened in shock. ‘Me? You want to go with
me?’
Richard had already done a number on her, Emily thought sourly. ‘Of course. It’ll be fun.’
‘I don’t have proper clothes—’
‘You can borrow something of mine.’ Emily eyed Helen assessingly, acknowledging that she was probably a size or two smaller than Emily was. Well, she had a few things she didn’t fit into any more, alas. And the idea of a makeover energised her. ‘We’ll have a real girly evening getting all done up,’ she said, ‘and then have a night on the town! Richard won’t know what’s happened to you.’
Slowly, shyly, Helen brightened. ‘That does sound lovely,’ she began, ‘but—’
‘No buts. It will be fun.’ And successful, as Jason liked to say. Quickly, she pushed him out of her mind. He didn’t need to know about this.
By eight o’clock that night Emily was shepherding Helen into the foyer of one of London’s grandest hotels. Helen was looking around in awe, clearly overwhelmed by the sheer luxury of the venue, with its glittering chandeliers and marble floor, the ballroom bustling with a thousand guests, all of them well-connected and wealthy.
Helen had transformed into a swan quite wonderfully, Emily thought in satisfaction. The black cocktail dress was unfortunately two years out of date as it was one of the only things of hers that had fitted Helen, but its lines were simple and classic and made the most of the younger woman’s slight frame. Emily had piled her luxuriant dark hair on top of her head, and emphasised Helen’s huge grey eyes with dark shadow and eyeliner. And she’d given her a manicure. She looked gorgeous.
Buoyed by her own efforts, Emily worked her way through the crowd, plucking two flutes of champagne from a circulating tray as she introduced Helen to the numerous acquaintances she’d cultivated over the years. No matter that Helen mumbled her greetings as she ducked her head; she’d get the hang of it soon, and she was pretty enough that it hardly mattered what she said.
‘How have I missed you two gorgeous ladies?’ A smooth voice interrupted Emily’s latest introduction and she turned to see Philip Ellsworth standing just a little too close, his gaze taking in Helen even as he smiled at Emily. Philip was charming, wealthy and definitely had an eye for the ladies. Emily watched Helen blush under Philip’s appreciative stare. Well, her confidence could use a little bolstering.
‘So charmed to meet you,’ Philip said after Emily had made the necessary introductions. ‘I can’t believe I haven’t come across you before. I’m sure I would have remembered.’
‘Helen is new to London,’ Emily interjected. Philip was still gazing at Helen with obvious admiration, and it compelled her to say, ‘The music is just starting up. Philip, I’m sure Helen would love to dance.’ All right, it was a little obvious, but he clearly enjoyed her company, and why shouldn’t Helen have a dance? ‘You do like to dance, don’t you, Helen?’
‘Yes,’ Helen admitted in a shy whisper.
‘In that case, I’ll have to oblige,’ Philip said with a charming and very white smile. He must use artificial whitener, Emily thought with a tiny flicker of distaste. Yet there could be no denying he was incredibly handsome and suave. And just the thing to cheer Helen up a bit. ‘I’m always at Emily’s command,’ he added, throwing Emily a sleek and even sly look. She firmly ignored it.
‘Go on, then,’ she said, and watched in satisfaction as Philip led Helen to the dance floor with obvious expertise. And Helen wasn’t too bad a dancer herself. Who knew what could happen there, Emily mused. Philip was in his thirties. Perhaps he was looking to marry, as well. Settle down. She smiled wryly at her own choice of words. No doubt Jason would accuse her of matchmaking again, but she could hardly be blamed if Helen and Philip made a go of it—
Emily laughed aloud. Those unfortunate phrases really had got stuck in her head. Her gaze returned to Philip and Helen. He was holding her quite close, and she was looking up at him with a rather dazed smile. Emily could not suppress the sharp stab of triumph at seeing Helen out and enjoying herself, flourishing under the approval and attraction of a handsome man. Take that, Richard Marsden.
She lifted her champagne flute, only to pause with it halfway to her lips as her body tensed of its own accord, a shiver of awareness rippling